Come Home to Me
by Higgins13
Summary: It's been 2 years, 7 months, and 4 days since I've seen my boyfriend. Not a day goes by I don't miss him.


It's been two years, seven months, and four days since I've seen my boyfriend.

Not a day goes by that I don't miss him.

I miss his laugh. I miss his smile. I miss his touch. I miss the way his hand would fit so perfectly into mine. I miss his head on my shoulder, his arm around my waist and his lips on my mouth.

I miss the way he'd look when we'd first wake up in the morning. I miss the blazing look he'd get in his eyes whenever we'd talk about our future. I miss how peaceful he looked when he slept. I miss how happy he'd become whenever it was just me and him.

I miss his voice. His angelic, beautiful voice that sang me to sleep every night.

I even miss our small and trivial arguments we'd only have every once in a while.

Except for the night he told me he was joining the army. That turned into a full-blown yelling match that scared me to death.

"I'm joining the army," he said, completely out-of-the-blue.

He had driven us out to Winona Lake, and we had been lying on the hood of his car, star-gazing. It was such a peaceful moment, and he had reached for my hand. I thought he was going to make some sappy speech about our relationship, so I was completely astounded by what he said.

I didn't like it at all. I thought it was a terrible idea. It ruined all of our plans for the future. We had just graduated high school together, and in August we were going to be moving to New York. We both got accepted to NYU. We even had a dinky little apartment picked out. This had been our plan all year. He was throwing away all of his hopes and dreams he had been working for his whole life. He was ruining his perfect plan.

_Our _perfect plan.

Anger surged through my body. He didn't even talk to me about this? I thought I was supposed to be an important part of his life. I thought we were supposed to make decisions together.

I thought we would never have to say goodbye.

Nothing could make me comprehend _why _he wanted to do this. No one in his family had been in the army, and it was so far from his interests. He said he just felt like he needed to. Like it was all part of his plan.

I felt as if someone else had taken over my boyfriend.

I started yelling at him, telling him what he was doing was selfish and ridiculous. He yelled back, asking how on earth risking his life for America was selfish.

I didn't think he was being selfish towards America. I thought he was being selfish towards _me_. Leaving me, and not telling me about it until he already had all of his plans ready and set. He told me he never said anything to me because he knew I'd just get really upset and wouldn't want him to go.

Well, duh.

I continued screaming nasty things at him that I really didn't mean, and he continued firing back until our voices were raw and hoarse.

Then that's when I broke down.

Because I wasn't actually angry. Not really. I was devastated. Sad. Confused. Terrified. Worried. And the only way I wanted to deal with those emotions was through yelling and shouting all my frustrations.

I started bawling my eyes out, and he held me close. Then he started crying too, and we both just started shaking uncontrollably. What a sight to see. Two 18-year-old boys sobbing and holding each other as if their life depended on it.

We talked everything out, all the mixed emotions about the situation swirling around our heads. And over the next couple of months, we were absolutely inseparable. We had always spent most of our time together before, but we had started to literally see each other every second of every day. We were on a strict, limited schedule and no one could stop us.

I heard what people were saying. That we would never make it past this. That he'd go off to war and I'd go off to New York and we'd break up. Puck even started taking bets on how long it would take for us to split. But I ignored it all, because I knew we'd make it. True love doesn't give up that easily.

August came too quickly, and suddenly it was the night before he had to leave. We spent it alone, up in his room. He suddenly started crying and saying he wasn't ready. I fought every urge in my body telling me to cry, because I needed to be strong for him. I told him he _was _ready, and that he was going to do great. Then he started rambling on about how he'd understand if I found someone new in New York or if I get tired of waiting around for him to come back.

I hushed him up immediately, because I would never give up on him or our relationship. I hugged him tightly and promised I'd always be his.

He fell asleep in my arms, tears still fresh on his face.

The next morning, we were in a sort of trance as we went to the airport. It was just us, his parents, my parents, and a few close friends. Tears and hugs were abundant as he said goodbye to everyone there.

He saved me for last.

He looked me right in the eyes, and then pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. I remember what he whispered to me as if I had heard it only yesterday.

"I'll always love you. No matter what happens. You are my first and only love. You saved me in every possible way. I promise to come back home to you. I promise."

And then his arms were no longer around me, and his whisper was no longer in my ear. He was gone, gone for who knows how long.

Gone.

I cried the rest of the day.

He would be at training for six weeks, and then I didn't know where he'd go. He couldn't share any information about his location to anyone, not even me.

We decided to stay in contact by writing letters to each other. It'd be the most convenient for him. And it'd be super romantic. I wrote him a letter every day. He wrote as often as he could. His letters were always vague and discrete, but I could _feel _the love and care he poured into every word. I would reread them a thousand times until I received his next letter. Sometimes weeks would go by without hearing from him, but he always told me not to worry. Sometimes he'd be in situations where he just couldn't write. But he said no matter how long it took for him to write back, I wasn't supposed to worry.

So I tried my best not to.

I moved to New York a couple weeks after he left. It felt wrong being there without him. But I tried my best to follow my dreams, because it's what he'd want. New York was absolutely magical. I loved it. And I met some fantastic friends.

But I still missed him every second.

I'm now in my junior year. I've settled in very nicely and I lead a comfortable life. But I will never be able to be truly happy again until he is back in my arms. I have no idea when he's coming home. I have no idea what he's doing at the moment.

He hasn't written me a letter in five months.

This is the longest it's ever been. He might just be too busy to write, or he could gone…forever.

I can't bear myself to think about that.

I tell myself I would've heard something by now if something bad had happened. But what if I hadn't? And what if he's badly injured? Or missing? Or…._dead_?

No.

Not knowing anything is the worst part. I feel sick at all times, just waiting for that phone call telling me I'll never see my boyfriend again.

My friends try to cheer me up, but nothing helps. I won't ever feel better until I get some type of closure, preferably a letter from him, apologizing for the delay and promising he's alright…

It's been two years, seven months, and four days since I've seen my boyfriend.

So when I walk into my apartment on March 24th, I lose all feeling in my body, lose all the thoughts in my head, lose all the strength in my limbs.

There he is, standing before my eyes. Looking as sharp as ever in his uniform. He's got a bouquet of flowers in his hands and a huge, goofy grin on his face.

I can't believe my eyes.

I have to be dreaming, I have to be.

I try to speak, but nothing comes out.

"Surprise," he whispers.

I stare at him.

"Is it…is it really…" I struggle to choke out.

"Yes, it's really me. I'm really here."

I feel my legs start to falter as my whole world grows blurry. I stumble over to him and fall into his arms, accidentally knocking the flowers out of his hands. He grips me securely and holds me up, hugging me in an even tighter hug than when we said goodbye.

I start crying and ask him a million questions, while simultaneously kissing every inch of him I can reach.

He says, "Shh, it's ok, it's ok. We have a lifetime to talk."

And I know he's right.

March 24th will always be my favorite day. Because it's the day my boyfriend, Blaine Anderson, came home to me.

* * *

_Hope you liked it! This *is* just a one-shot, so I hope you're satisfied with the ending :)_


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